e. e. Cummings Poem

numb(and that was and that was cling)

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numb(and
that was
and that
was cling)

on
win
ter
sc

ribbled
lonely truth(from
hang
from droop

w
ar
pin
g dre

ams
whichful sarcasms
papery deathfuls)awaits
yes

this alive secretly i
frantic this serene
mightily how rooted
who of iron

emptied.hills. listen.
does yesterday’s perfection seem not quite

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